Home
by Jessahme Wren
Summary: Red takes Liz to his childhood home. Alone and away from the Post Office, the walls between them begin to crumble and they become closer than ever before. Lizzington. Written as part of the Secret Hiatus at the Lizzington Shippers Facebook Group.
1. Tea and Sympathy

In fulfillment of a wish for Secret Hiatus, a summer Secret Santa at the Lizzington Shippers Facebook group. For my friend and talented writer LovelyLittleFreckle who never fails to make me laugh; this is for you my dear.

Prompt: Either Red or Liz visit their childhood home.

My apologies in advance for not getting to that part yet. Chapter One is just to get us started; more will come :). *hugs*

Thank you in advance for reading and reviewing; I appreciate every comment :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing related; just taking them out to play.

-0-0-0-

Liz sank down into the plush cushions of her new couch and sighed. The tea she'd made still steeped in its little pot on the coffee table, a ribbon of steam floating from the spout.

She grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels. The FBI took everything after the fiasco with Tom, so the TV was new too. The few things she did keep were personal, not anything you could pick up at Crate and Barrel. A box of Sam's photos. A stuffed rabbit singed and stinking of smoke. Her life in a single box; the rest of it was just window dressing.

But window dressing or not, it was hers-a dwelling but not yet a home. The small apartment was enough for her, though, and on a selfish note, it was nice. Liz drew her legs under her and looked at the well-apportioned space. The modern Victorian style was both relaxed and sophisticated, the cool tones of the decor complimentary rather than harsh. Red had once made a glib comment that she was a winter and not an autumn, and although she had brushed it off at the time, she also found herself making unconscious color choices to support his opinion. Indeed, the deep blue and red touches around her brought out the natural grain of the cherry wood furniture like no burnt orange or hunter green ever could.

She sipped her tea, feeling content in her purchases regardless of the monetary splurge. Her eyes fell on a bookcase in the corner, its design both masculine and refined. It reminded her of Red somehow; she'd never seen him stay in too many places without a bookcase nearby.

A knock at the door pulled her from her revelry. She sighed, putting her tea on the coffee table and pulling her robe around her. Silently, she cursed whoever it was on the other side.

Before she could look through the peephole, Red's rich voice resonated in the empty hallway on the other side of the door.

"Lizzie, it's me."

She frowned, wishing she had more time to look a little more...put together. But she was at home, after all, and it was 10pm on a Friday night and Red rarely made house calls. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing the wisps that were still damp from the shower. Slowly, she opened the door.

A little puff of cool air followed through the door as it swung open. She stood there, one hand on the doorknob and the other clutched firmly around her waist, securing the robe. She'd forgotten to reinforce the knot, and the lilac silk would've slipped free had it not been for her efforts to prevent it.

Red was standing in the doorway looking at her. He wore a dark suit and a fedora that she had never seen; the brim was crisp and the band had a delicate knot on one side. As collected as he looked, there was something unsettling about his face, about the nervous way he held his hands at his side. His expression was drawn and he looked tired.

"Won't you come in?"

Liz stepped aside for him, but he didn't follow. She frowned, somewhat puzzled, and she took the odd moment to secure the robe more firmly, reinforcing the knot. He watched her hands from the threshold of the door, saying nothing.

She saw him swallow. "Lizzie," he said simply. He looked into her eyes, and she could see a deep sadness there. "I have to go away for awhile."

Her throat constricted at his words. Instantly she thought of the last time he had "gone away," when he was taken by Anslo Garrick. Ever since then she had felt a latent protectiveness of him. Not that he needed it, of course, but it was a needling feeling that occupied her thoughts every time she went more than a couple of days without seeing him.

That he might not come back.

She tightened her arms around her middle and looked at him imploringly. "Come inside, Red."

For a second he didn't move. Then, he dipped his chin and stepped smoothly past her.

Having Red inside her apartment was less awkward than she might have thought. Liz pushed the door closed and leaned against it. She watched Red move further into the room, taking in his surroundings.

"Can I take your coat?" Her eyes fell on the white ceramic pot on the coffee table. "I was having tea if you'd like some."

Red turned, almost as if he was hearing her under water, and quickly removed his hat and placed it on the end of the coffee table. For the first time he looked at her. She still stood with her back against the door, the silk robe falling softly against her curves. She had one leg slightly bent and balanced on the ball of her foot. Her feet were bare.

"I uh...I won't be staying long," he said stiltedly. He found it difficult not to look at her, and even in his quiet discomfort he found it impossible not to find her beautiful.

Liz pushed away from the door and walked slowly toward the middle of the room. She sighed, put off by his demeanor and the late hour.

"Will you sit down?"

She stopped a few feet in front of him, neither of them moving. He swallowed nervously, then nodded as he took a seat in the chair opposite the couch. Liz found her forgotten cup, the tea already cooled, and brought it to her lips.

"How long will you be gone." She was looking at him over the rim of her teacup, that old dread from before slowly creeping back.

"No more than a few days," he said roughly. "Hopefully." He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "I was going to ask you something."

Liz set the tea down heavily in its saucer and pulled a leg beneath her. He watched her, tracked her movements. His eyes fell on the smooth triangle of skin framed by the silk robe and then moved up to her face. Her eyebrows were raised in question.

"I was going to ask if you would go with me."

The question took her off guard. He never really asked her to do anything, which she stopped minding some time ago. He simply presumed. After all, it was his way. The arrangement with the FBI, after all. But there was something off in the way he said it, the look in his eyes.

"What's the case?"

He gave her quick smile, but it was noncommittal. "It's not a case."

So it's personal, she thought. Liz wondered briefly what could be personal enough to bring him to her door at such an hour.

"Someone close to me has died," he said to her unspoken question. "In Massachusetts."

Liz sank back into the couch, trying to hide her surprise. A puff of air escaped her lips. "I thought you didn't have any family."

It was one of those stupid, thoughtless things that slip out before you've had a chance to stop it. She would have never said that, yet she had and it was done. She felt like dying.

Red's mouth twitched once, but he said nothing. Liz opened her mouth to apologize, but he saved her the misery.

"She was no relation," he said quietly. He gave a small, rueful smile. "But she was important."

Liz pressed her lips together, the burn of embarrassment still evident on her face. "Of course," she said. She straightened a little. "I'm sorry Red."

He nodded, uncrossing his legs and reaching for his fedora. He locked eyes with her.

"So am I," he said as he flipped the hat smoothly onto his head. He adjusted the brim with one or two quick motions, and Liz imagined how many times she had seem him do that and never noticed it before.

Liz stood, sensing his desire to leave. She followed him to the door. The robe had struggled loose again, and she held it closed with one hand. A fleeting thought crossed her mind of what he must think of her dressed like this, but she pushed it away.

He stopped on the threshold and turned, one hand on the facing. "Well," he said rather dryly. "I guess I'll see you in a few days."

Liz straightened unconsciously and moved a half step toward him. The shadows under his eyes had grown deeper with the late hour, and the harsh lighting from the hallway outside her apartment only seemed to add weight to the sadness that clung to him like a garment.

"Aren't you going to ask me?"

He looked at her with some humor, tilting his head slightly. "Ask you what."

She smiled. "Would I go with you. I believe you said you were going to ask me. I don't think you ever did."

Red pursed his lips. "Didn't I?" He looked at her thoughtfully then gave a little huff of amusement. He met her eyes, and when he spoke his voice had dropped into the lower register. "Aren't you going to ask me why I want you to go?"

Liz studied him for a moment. He would expect her to, wouldn't he, she thought. She was always the one with questions while he walked around like the purveyor of all truth. This time, though, it didn't seem to matter. For once she didn't care.

"No," she said finally. "If you need me to go, then that's enough."

He smiled, a genuine smile that drove the somber notes from his face. He gave her a quick nod, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Ok then."

Liz returned the smile. She had surprised him, that much was evident. She watched as he patted the edge of the doorframe to have something to do with his hands. "Ok," she said softly.

And suddenly, she didn't want him to leave.

But he was turning, already going. She could feel the air between them stir and cool in his vacancy. He was halfway down the hall and she was standing there in a silk robe watching him leave. Liz stood there and listened to the stairwell echo under his weight until the sound had faded and he was gone.

-0-0-0-

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	2. In a Station of the Metro

LovelyLittleFreckle, I'm quickly falling in love with your prompt. This is for you and for the Lizzington Shippers Facebook Group Secret Hiatus. This chapter also fulfills the prompt "Red or Liz get slightly hurt and need the other to care for him/her."

The chapter title is a poem of the same name by Ezra Pound; it's also referenced in the text. Thank you so much for your thoughts on the first chapter; as you know by now reviews are life.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my feels, but therein lies the wealth.

-0-0-0-

Liz stood on the tarmac, a small suitcase and duffel by her side. Red's private jet waited just twenty or so yards away; the smooth metal exoskeleton glinting in the midday sun. She was surprised that he wasn't already there, but she hadn't seen Dembe or any sign of a car, so she stood beside the idling taxi with some anticipation.

She pulled her long winter coat tighter around her and fastened the middle button. She was working her way up the row of buttons when the hatch on the jet opened and the stairs descended.

Red stood at the top of them, both hands on the railing, and Liz found herself blinking several times just to take in the scene. He looked quite different than how she was used to seeing him. He wore a finely woven gray v-neck sweater over dark jeans. There was a crisp navy blue button-up beneath it, peeking out of the collar. The first three buttons were undone, and she could see a patch of smooth, tan skin even from where she was standing.

He made his way down the stairs as she walked toward him. They met at the bottom step; one of his feet still rested there while the other one dropped down to stand in front of her.

"Hi," he said easily. He seemed more relaxed than the night before. The pinched, somewhat tortured expression that had darkened his features when he had appeared at her door was gone, and it pleased her.

Red reached for the larger suitcase, handling it easily. He looked at her. "I half expected you not to show up," he said. There was humor in his voice, but she also felt he meant it.

"And why would you think that?" She followed him up the stairs, speaking louder against the engines that had slowly started to hum. He reached the top and turned to look at her.

"Because I never thought you would say yes," he said.

Liz followed him into the interior of the plane. She'd only flown with him a few times, but each time she was struck by how unassuming his preferred mode of travel was. As wealthy as Red must be, he wasn't ostentatious. He enjoyed luxury but didn't flaunt it. His private plane was very much a reflection of those sentiments-refinement, taste, and utility.

Red settled into the supple leather seats and looked at home. She imagined he spent quite a bit of time flying, and for someone who lived from one posh hotel and quirky hideout to the next, this plane was probably as close to a stable dwelling as he had.

The engines began an increasing whine. Liz buckled her seatbelt and watched the pilot, a middle-aged man in a sharp black uniform, step into the cabin and talk to Red. Red rose to meet him, and they spoke in quiet tones. While she watched them she realized who was missing.

"Red, where's Dembe?"

The pilot had gone and Red settled back into his seat, crossing his legs languidly. He picked up a folded newspaper beside him. There was a pen next to it.

"Dembe's not going with us this time," he said casually. He looked up and gave her a prim smile. "It's just us."

She nodded. _Just us. _Red was completing a crossword puzzle and working his mouth thoughtfully. She swallowed.

_Just us._

"Lizzie," he began casually. "What's a nine letter word for 'paradise.'" He tapped the pen against the newspaper resting in his lap.

She narrowed her eyes. "'Shangri-la,' she answered flatly. She began rubbing the scar at her wrist. "Red, why isn't Dembe going?"

He penciled in the word, pausing mid-stroke to laugh softly to himself. "Is that with the hyphen?"

"Yes."

He could feel her hard stare, could see the smooth brow in his periphery, the deceptively calm mask that could harbor so much fire and ice. He put the pen down.

"Dembe is on another assignment," he said simply. He looked at her appraisingly, tilting his head. "Are you comfortable with that?"

She straightened, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles in her slacks. She felt somewhat overdressed given Red's more relaxed appearance. It was an interesting role reversal.

"Of course," she said simply. "I was just curious."

It wasn't the whole truth. The thought of being alone with Red, entirely alone and not on a case, was somehow unsettling. As she closed her eyes, she wondered briefly if her gut instinct to go with him had been the right one after all.

-0-0-0-

She was warm and content to sleep. A vague sense of peace surrounded her, a feeling both alien and familiar. The blissful unawareness made her long for the comfort of sleep to last, even though she knew it couldn't. Liz was slipping into wakefulness, and the longer she fought it the more lucid she became. Finally, a slip of cool air and a faint stirring at her throat startled her awake.

She cracked one eye before opening them both wide. "Red, what are you doing?"

He was leaning over her, his hands at the hem of the blanket tucked under her neck. The rough skin of his knuckles grazed her throat once more as he uncurled them, finally withdrawing his hands.

"You looked cold," he said simply. "But you might want to wake up; we're almost there."

Red returned to his seat, allowing her to wake on her own. He had one arm along the back of the couch-style leather seat and he was looking at her, his expression unreadable. She pretended not to notice, instead indulging in a few more moments beneath the blanket. It was soft and luxurious, not the thin, sad versions found on commercial air lines. No, this one belonged here, on his plane among his things. It even smelled like him.

Liz thought briefly of Red napping on long transatlantic flights, dozing under this very blanket.

She was suddenly very warm.

-0-0-0-

The rest of the flight was spent in companionable silence. Red wasn't exaggerating about the proximity of their destination. They had landed and were in a car in under thirty minutes.

Liz leaned her head against the cool window, watching her breath frost against the glass. Even in the cozy interior of the car, she could feel the cold outside. She'd never been to New England, but she'd heard of its brutal winters. It was just early fall, yet the promise of colder weather loomed on the horizon.

The large sedan pulled off the main road and rattled along a narrow dirt path. A myriad of colors mixed and flashed as the sun peeked through the thick woods; like blooms on the branch of a tree the colors disappeared and reappeared in seasons of sun and shade. It reminded her of a poem she'd read in college, one of those short, imagist poems that are like snapshots in time.

_The apparition of these faces in the crowd; _

_Petals on a wet, black bough._

The car, the landscape beyond the window, it all bled together until it was impossible to determine what was moving and what was standing still.

Liz looked over at Red who appeared lost in thought. He had been pensive on the plane, especially after she awoke. The quiet gulf that had separated them during the flight remained undisturbed by either of them.

The late afternoon sun squinted through the trees once more before opening into a wide expanse. In the middle of it sat an unassuming two story home. The facade was Old Colonial with a white-wood face that, for all its apparent upkeep, was showing age. A stone path wound through a brittle carpet of dead grass to the grey wood steps and wrought iron banister of the old house. Liz had seen a dozen simple houses like this one, yet it still felt singular.

The pebbled driveway was a cul-de-sac of sorts, bending around an old oak tree with a tire swing that drifted gently on the breeze. The sedan pulled in front of that tree with a full view of the house and stuttered to a stop.

Red didn't move at first. Instead he gazed at the nondescript house and its modest yard with barely-veiled admiration.

"This was my Nana's house," he said quietly. "My father was stationed not far from here, and this was our home until we left. Maybe three years, we lived here." He worked his mouth. "But Nana stayed."

Liz was managed to hide her surprise. She clasped her hands in her lap and wished for the ambient noise of the engine or a winter bird detouring on its way to Florida, but there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. She pressed her lips together.

"How long did you know her," she asked quietly. This was the most Red had ever shared about his personal history, and she was afraid to press too hard.

He looked thoughtful. "Most of my childhood," he said flatly. "Or at least the parts that mattered." He frowned. "Not long enough."

He opened the door then and stepped smoothly out. Liz exited her side, still processing the maddening way Red had of giving her a morsel or two of insight into his private life and then cruelly snatching it away. She looked for him and he already had their bags out of the trunk and on the pebble drive under the tree.

Liz stood beside him as the sedan drove away, leaving them alone.

Red looked at her a little oddly, then smiled. "We should probably get inside," he said pleasantly. "It looks like it might rain."

She looked to the sky and indeed it was cloudy and dull gray, a sort of wet and drear pall that seemed to paint everything in muted tones. She hefted her smaller bag and followed Red inside.

There was a coat rack by the door, and Red quickly divested himself of his coat and hat, even though it was drafty inside. Quietly he motioned for her to turn, and with just a small amount of hesitation, she complied.

She felt his hands fall gently on her shoulders, their weight the faintest of touches through her winter coat. It was the red wool coat that she had bought for the season. She and Red often found themselves in harsh climates, and at the time she thought it was a prudent and fashionable choice. Red had once remarked on how much he loved the color, how it complimented her hair and complexion. She had thought nothing of it at the time (Red's courtly manners was something she had grown accustomed to), but the thought of the statement now colored her cheeks.

She shrugged out of the coat easily, letting it fall into his waiting hands. Red peeled it slowly from her shoulders, the rush of cold in its wake causing her to shiver. With the coat draped over one arm, he placed a hand near the base of her neck, feeling the gooseflesh there. His mouth was at her ear. "I'll start a fire," he said.

She shivered again, though probably not entirely from the cold. He had never touched her that way, though it wasn't sexual and shouldn't make her uncomfortable. _Should it? _They were alone and this wasn't business, but to her hyper-alert mind, everything seemed to take on a double meaning.

Liz stepped further into the interior of the house. It was rustic with a warm, homey feel. The wide foyer had an emerald green runner that had seen better days, but it was clean, and she found herself admiring the gold stitching at the edge. She moved slowly into the small den where she found Red bent over a stack of kindling on the hearth.

"I, uh...I would like to freshen up," she said.

He stood from his ministrations and turned to face her. Her cheeks were still ruddy from the fall wind, and she looked smaller without her coat. She smiled tightly, but her sapphire eyes sparkled.

He dusted his hands, ridding them of some invisible offense. His sleeves were rolled. "Of course," he said. "Let me show you upstairs."

She let him lead, watching as he held the oak banister only at certain spots. The stain under his palm had achieved a rich patina from years of use, and she wondered how much of that had been his doing.

When they reached the landing of the second floor she noticed it was a bit warmer than the first, but not by much. Red set the bags down outside of a nondescript wooden door and finally turned to look at her.

"I think you'll be comfortable here," he said. "And if you need anything during the night I'm right across the hall." He stiffened a hand at his side, working his way up to what he would say next. "Thank you," he finally said, "for being here." His throat bobbed once and he nodded. "I know it's not the most normal of circumstances-"

"Being with you never is," she interrupted, and they both chuckled lightly at the truth of the statement.

"No, I suppose you're right." He smiled at the floor. "I better work on that fire," he said.

She gave him a soft smile, a little warmed by his nervous display. "You better. I can't feel my toes."

She watched him turn and bound down the stairs, perhaps afraid that if he stayed longer he might say more. _Or do more_, she inwardly finished. But that might be her fear, not his. She slipped inside the cozy bedroom and pressed the door closed behind her. When he was out of earshot, she took a long, cleansing breath.

-0-0-0-

Red was in the kitchen when she came down the stairs. She was toweling off her hair, and she wore an oversized sweatshirt over black leggings. When he looked at her feet, he realized why he hadn't heard her coming. She had on a pair of fuzzy socks.

They were pink and stopped at the ankle. It made him smile. He turned from the stove and looked at her with some humor. "I see you found a cure for your frozen feet."

She settled heavily into one of the kitchen's ladder-back chairs, tossing the towel over a nearby rung. "Not really. It's still a bit cold up there." She eyed him curiously. "What are you doing in here, anyway?"

He smirked as he turned toward the table. "Well, since I am in a kitchen and I'm not eating or drinking, perhaps I am preparing something?"

Her deep frown at his sarcasm caused him to laugh. "You really are an asshole sometimes, Red." She watched him nod, still smiling. "And don't tell me you cook."

He moved the teapot that was resting on the counter behind him to the scarred surface of the kitchen table. "Don't get excited, Lizzie, it's only tea." He slowly poured each of them a mug full. "But I interrupted this last night; I thought I would make it up to you."

Liz's mouth quirked into a smile and her eyes twinkled. "How did you know I have tea after a bath?"

He added two cubes of sugar and looked at her. "I only guessed at that part," he said quietly. Liz was looking at him with such rapt attention that he found himself drawn to her. The dewy skin, the brilliant blue eyes-before he could stop himself, his hand went out to touch the lock of hair that fell around her face. "You're...hair was damp last night as well," he said thoughtfully as he studied her face. He saw her eyes widen and regrettably lowered his hand. "I just assumed."

Red cleared his throat, somewhat chagrined at his open display. He was usually such a master of control; but his recent loss and having Lizzie with him in such a familiar setting, alone; all of it had left him feeling raw and exposed.

"Red, what happened to you?"

He looked down at his hand. It was tied with a white cloth he'd found under the sink. He flexed his fingers.

"Oh this," he said easily. "It's nothing. I caught a splinter while starting the fire."

It didn't satisfy her. She took his hand without permission and opened the palm under the light. He winced.

"I have a kit in my suitcase," she said seriously. Before he could stop her, she was on her way to retrieve it. When she had returned, Liz carried a compact field kit and began spreading the contents on the kitchen table.

He looked at it skeptically. "What did you think we would be up to Lizzie; you've got enough here for a trauma center."

Liz smiled. "Well I just never know with you, Red. I like to be prepared." She grabbed his hand, unwrapping the white cloth gingerly. "And it looks like my hunch was correct."

She leaned over his arm and their heads nearly touched. He could feel her warm breath against his skin, smell the faint floral scent of her hair; her forehead was creased in concentration and she was oblivious to his study. He leaned further into her under the guise of inspecting the wound, just to catch her warmth.

"Red, you're in my light, I can't-"

She lifted her head and their faces nearly touched. Their breaths mingled, and for a moment her eyes slipped down to his mouth. She licked her lips. "I can't see," she finished breathlessly. Her mouth was dry.

"Sorry," he said roughly, the spell broken. Her proximity made him feel somewhat upended yet strangely complete. Despite his desire not to, he pushed back away from the light and wrinkled his nose. "I hardly think this warrants the kind of -" he yelped mid-sentence as she began probing the ugly wound. A piece of the splinter was still lodged beneath the skin, and she would have to extract it.

Liz stifled a chuckle. "Take this," she said humorously, tossing him the white cloth. "You can use it as a blindfold or to chew on, your preference." She shot him a wry grin, turned a kitchen chair around to sit astride it, and set to work.

After she had finished, Red held the mug in his properly bandaged hand and gestured toward the darkened space behind her. "It's warmer in the den," he said.

They both settled on the Davenport, and Red watched Liz curl her legs beneath her like she had the night before, only that lovely robe was cruelly missing (admittedly he had held out hope that it might make a reappearance, but he understood why it hadn't). She was beautiful anyway, and tonight he was beside her on the couch and not halfway across the room.

"Tell me about Nana," Liz said quietly. She had wrapped her hands around the mug and settled back into the couch a bit.

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "My mother hired her to help around the house. She was no more than 20 at the time, and I was about 8 years old. She moved in with us soon after that; everyone got along so well with her, but me most of all." He paused, looking into the fire. The light from the flames flickered across his face, softening his features. "She was a playmate, a confidant. She was far more than a parent, Lizzie. She was a friend."

Liz had set the mug down on the coffee table and had her arms crossed. She was looking at him with a softness he had seen from her only a few times. "How did she die?"

He sipped his tea. "Heart attack I believe. She went quickly. I'm glad for that." Seconds ticked as a silence stretched between them. He could feel her eyes on him.

"But you wish you could've said goodbye."

Red looked at her then, and her expression was the wistful, knowing expression of someone who's forgiven someone who hurt them. It had taken Liz a long time to understand what he had done for Sam, for her to feel his pain as something similar to her own. He had vowed never to take her forgiveness for granted.

Instead of saying anything more, she let her weight fall against his shoulder and Red put is harm around her, pulling her close. He registered the decompressing sigh, how her body relaxed into his. He had not held her like this since he had shown her the music box, since she had cried against him and they had held each other into the watches of the night.

"Are you warm now," he inquired after several minutes. His voice was lower and had a roughness that she selfishly wanted to hear more of.

She smiled, turning her face into him. "Everything but my feet," she said, her voice muffled against him.

He withdrew his arm from around her and nudged her back against the end of the couch. She was confused at first, then curious. "Let me see them," he said.

"Red, I'm not letting you see my feet," she said flatly.

"It's either that or stick them into the fire." He motioned to her gently. "I have notoriously warm hands," he said in his defense, and he began rubbing them together as if stoking some invisible flame.

How well she knew about those hands, she thought, and smiled inwardly. Their firm warmth at the small of her back, a searing glance on her shoulder. And occasionally, the calloused palms intertwined with her own.

Red was watching her, patient and resolute. He would wait her out, she knew, and neither of them would leave until he had had his way. With a sigh, she gingerly placed her feet into his lap.

He noted her look of trepidation and smiled. "Don't worry Lizzie; I'm not going to repay you for the sheer agony you inflicted upon me earlier."

She toed him lightly just above the knee, her eyebrows up. "Sheer agony Red? You're such a whiner."

He squeezed her foot gently. "And your touch could use a bit more delicacy," he said with a smile. "Now lie back."

Finally, she did so. Red removed the fluffy socks and ensconced each of her feet with his hands.

Indeed they were warm, and Liz couldn't suppress a sigh as she felt the cold recede. Red moved from one quadrant to the other, intermittingly warming his hands as they cooled against her. He simply covered them until they were warmed to his satisfaction before moving elsewhere. Her eyes were closed, and he allowed himself the close study he was usually denied.

Her hair spread against the couch picked up the light from the fireplace, igniting the jewel tones in a gilded corona. Her jaw was relaxed, and the half-closed mouth revealed the full beauty of her lips in a way he had never noticed before. They glistened in the same light, and when he changed positions with his hands they gently curved into a contented smile.

She was a goddess and entirely too good for him.

As if she sensed him watching her, Liz opened her eyes. For a moment they simply looked at each other until Red finally spoke.

"You should probably get to bed," he said quietly. "It's been a long day."

It gave her pause, then she simply nodded, wondering vaguely why their evening had to end so abruptly. She sat up on her end of the couch suppressing a yawn. "What time are the services tomorrow."

"Early. But you don't have to go, Lizzie."

She shook her head sharply, ignoring his pleasantries. "What time exactly," she asked firmly.

He sighed. "10am."

"Ok," she said. She stood and shrugged deeper into the oversized sweatshirt, unsure of what to do next. "I guess I'll see you in the morning then."

She was halfway to the stairs in her bare feet when she turned to him, smiling over her shoulder. "Thank you Red," she said simply. He said nothing, but he watched her pad up the stairs until she was out of sight.

Red sat on the couch for a long time after that.

-0-0-0-

Liz slipped into the sanctuary of her bedroom, for the first time thankful for the cooler air; hopefully it would calm the blush in her cheek, the racing heart that had nothing to do with the stairs.

She grabbed a few things and walked into the small bathroom. The steam from her earlier bath was gone, but she wiped the mirror anyway, seeking a clearer image of the woman in front of her.

Things were moving. Things were changing. She felt buoyed along by an unseen force, an energy that, without the restraining power of her usual circumstances promised much to a seasoned heart that had known so little of love.

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Thank you for reading; I would love to know what you think!

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(There are links to all of these in my profile)


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